


Before and After

by lostintheverse



Series: The Verse of Ari & Dante [6]
Category: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Sáenz
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, M/M, Missing Scene, Underage tag due to sex between 17 year olds in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24592813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostintheverse/pseuds/lostintheverse
Summary: Before Ari and Dante leave to hang out with their friends, and again after they return at the end of the night, they get up to some fun in the bedroom.
Relationships: Aristotle Mendoza/Dante Quintana
Series: The Verse of Ari & Dante [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1411420
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	Before and After

**Author's Note:**

> This is another "missing scene" fic, and actually contains two scenes: one that comes early in [Chapter 19](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19470853/chapters/54075979) of [The day after (and the day after that)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19470853/chapters/46347529), and one that comes at the end. I've inserted excerpts from the chapter to put the scenes into context. The asterisks * indicate the start and end of the new material. 
> 
> Gratitude to [Happierstill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happierstill/pseuds/Happierstill) for being a fantastic beta! ♥

DANTE

When our friends arrive, Ari and I aren’t ready to go. 

Far from it, really. I’d spent the afternoon watching him work out in the basement—one of my favorite pastimes—and then I’d been lying on his bed reading over his history essay when he’d come in from the shower, dripping all over the floor and clad in nothing but a towel.

If you can accurately imagine how Aristotle Mendoza looks dripping wet and clad in a towel, you will understand that I can’t be blamed for my actions.

*He catches the look in my eye and cocks an eyebrow. It’s only been a couple of weeks since we Crossed the Line, which is how I keep referring to the sex we had on Christmas Eve which was when I  _ really _ feel like I lost my virginity. The moniker makes Ari roll his eyes harder than The Oreo Exchange ever did. 

“You can’t  _ name _ it, Dante,” he always says, and he literally cringes every time it comes up, which is possibly the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. “It’s bad enough we have to call it anything. Can’t we just do it, without  _ talking _ about it?”

“I  _ like _ talking about it, Ari,” I always say. “I get to relive it all over again.”

“I like reliving it too, Dante.  _ In my mind.” _

That boy can always make me laugh.

Anyway, whatever. I’m reliving every minute of it in my mind right now, watching a bead of water drip from his hair and onto his shoulder and down, so slowly, over his chest. I watch it keep going. It’s like a river beside his belly button. Down, down, until it’s absorbed by the white cotton towel…

I don’t even register getting up and putting my mouth on his and unhooking that towel so that it pools around our feet. It just _ happens. _ This is what I mean by “I can’t be blamed for my actions.” I mean,  _ Jesus Christ. _ What’s a boy with a sex-god boyfriend to do? I have my hand around him, and he’s hard as stone, energy thrumming into my palm, his hair dripping onto my shoulders, and I smile as I kiss him. 

And then I’m walking him backwards towards his bed  _ (our _ bed; both of our beds are  _ our bed _ now), kind of... _ pulling _ him, by his cock...and it makes him moan into my mouth. When my legs hit the back of the bed, I sit down without meaning to, and he’s immediately on me. He starts to crawl over me, like he wants to get us properly into bed, but I promptly halt that the minute his hips are near my face because I need him in my mouth for a while, and only when I feel like he’s at the edge do I stop and start maneuvering so that I’ll end up beneath him.

“You’ve got clothes on,” he murmurs gruffly, and I grin. 

“What are you gonna do about it?” I ask, sounding admittedly bratty. From the way his eyes flash, he loves it, and I have to suppress my smirk.

And then he’s pulling my clothes off me with such...enthusiasm...I can barely keep up. Before I’ve fully registered that I am as naked as he is, he has his mouth at my throat, nipping and sucking in that way that  _ always _ leaves bruises and makes me melt into a puddle, and I can’t believe this boy ever thought he wasn’t gay because good God, he  _ owns _ this. He’s like the poster child of Knowing Exactly What He’s Doing and I am very, very lucky.

I never forget it. Not for a minute.

He has  _ me _ in his hand now, and I’m so completely overwhelmed that I actually forget to touch him. I just throw my hands above my head and grab the bed frame (which, I admit, has kind of become the MO lately once we get to this point) and then somehow he has one hand on me and two fingers inside of me and I’m grinding down, meeting the pressure, wanting more-more-always-more until he finally gives it to me and I lose my fucking mind. 

“You’ve  _ got _ to be  _ quiet,” _ he hisses, but he’s laughing, and also breathing as heavily as me. “Parents.” 

“Stop mentioning parents,” I breathe, barely able to get words out, and he laughs again and narrows his eyes and somehow, impossibly, fucks me deeper. 

“Stop almost screaming, then,” he says against my lips, and before I can argue (or actually scream, because God, he’s not holding back  _ at all) _ he fastens his lips to mine and won’t let go. I can’t even kiss him back properly because every ounce of consciousness I have is caught up in coping with how completely I’m overtaken by him. 

Every time he’s been inside me...every single fucking time...it blows my mind. Every time is like it’s the first time. It’s like I forget, in between, how intense it is. It’s like my brain literally cannot cope with how overwhelming it is, so it wipes the memory, and only once he’s back inside me again do I understand, and remember why I want it every minute of every day. 

I’m practically folded in half beneath him, my knees hooked over his shoulders, my hands clutching the bed frame for dear life. He runs his hands up my arms slowly, the gentleness in total contrast to what his body is doing to mine, and it takes me a second to register what is happening and let go of the bed frame so he can lace his fingers with mine. Then he presses my hands into the bed, on either side of the pillow, and I nearly scream again.

“Shhhhh,” he whispers, and it’s his eyes—the look in his eyes, how his pupils are blown and so full of wanting and satisfaction, but also so _ playful _ —it’s his eyes that make me lose it. And as soon as I lose it, he does, too. It’s like he was waiting (holy hell, was he holding off until I finished? He  _ is _ the best boyfriend in the world…), because the minute I come onto his chest, onto mine, his eyes are rolling back and then  _ I’m  _ the one shushing  _ him _ because the sound that comes out of him is completely, undeniably pornographic. He collapses on top of me, his face buried in the pillow, his body a lovely weight covering my own. He releases his grip on my hands and lets my legs come down to circle him. I have to wiggle them a little to get the feeling back in them.

“You are, undoubtedly, the sexiest human being in the universe,” he mutters, his voice muffled. 

A second later, there’s a sound. Despite being out of breath and dazed, we’re both immediately at attention. He lifts his face out of the pillow.* 

“My dudes.” It’s Tone. He’s cracked the door the smallest amount possible and seems to be looking everywhere but inside. Then, in Spanish, he says, “We’ll, uh...wait downstairs.”

I turn my face on the pillow so I can look at Ari. He was already flushed from what we’d been doing, but now his face has that distinct hue it gets when he’s mortified. I laugh and knock my forehead against his. “Poor guy,” I say.

“How long do you think he was standing there?” Ari’s voice is hoarse. 

“The shortest amount possible. Don’t worry, Ari. I don’t think he has any interest in watching us have sex.” Ari thinks about this a minute.

“Poor guy, indeed. Doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he mumbles, and I laugh so hard my eyes tear up. 

_________________________________________________________

Ari flops down onto the bed beside me, clad only in boxers. I do notice, now, because his body is just so damn beautiful. I tear my eyes away from his chest and arms because I can feel him staring at me. I meet his eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, softly, and once again, I’m amazed at how much our brains run on the same track, and also how much we adore each other. I put my hand into his messy long hair, feeling how silky it is, and close my fingers together so it pulls, just a little. He exhales and closes his eyes so sensually I have to remind myself to breathe. He opens them again, though, right away, and says, “You have no idea how many times I thought that. That you’re beautiful.” His mouth quirks up on one side, not quite a smile. “If I had followed a single thought through to its conclusion, I would have known I was in love with you all along.” 

Then he tugs on my t-shirt. “Take your clothes off,” he murmurs, and then proceeds to do it for me. As soon as my shirt is gone I tilt my head back on the pillow and put my arms above my head and  let him do what he wants to me, because everything he wants to do is something I long for on the regular. 

*His lips ghost over me, starting at my collarbone. 

“Do you know,” he whispers, just above my left nipple, “how many times I’ve thought of you as an angel?” I feel the button on my fly pop and hear the zipper being unzipped. My body responds; thank God he’s pulling off my jeans, because I need the space. His lips coast down to my ribs. “Do you have any idea,” and his lips are at my navel, “how many times I thought the word ‘perfect’ about you?” He pulls my boxers down just enough so that he can kiss along my waist, right where the elastic had been. Then he sits back and pulls them off, too, and then I’m naked before him on the bed.

He puts his mouth back on me, this time on the sharp bone of my right hip, and the sound I’m making is coming from deep inside of me. Once I read that scientists don’t know where cats’ purring comes from. It seems to be coming from some part of them that humans don’t understand. That’s how I feel in this moment, with Ari’s lips barely grazing my skin, his breath hot, his hand running up my thigh to close around me, his words...beautiful. 

“I fucking worship you,” he murmurs, before swallowing me down in one fluid movement, and I’m so overcome I forget to marvel at how breathtaking his words are whenever he lets himself  _ talk _ . 

_ Words are not his language. _ My ass. Though, to be fair, he has a solid handle on the physical stuff, too. 

I’m so overcome I can’t do anything but twine my hands in his hair and whimper and try not to thrust too hard into his mouth. I adore him so utterly, I’ve wanted him so long, I  _ still _ sometimes worry that I might overwhelm him, despite all the evidence he’s given me to the contrary. 

He pulls his mouth up and off of me, slowly, carefully, and immediately puts his hand where it was. 

“Don’t hold back, love. Give it to me. I’m yours,” he whispers, his gaze unblinkingly holding mine, and he smiles at how my eyes pop and I shudder beneath him. Then he puts his mouth back and I let myself thrust so hard that eventually I realize he’s just holding himself still, bracing himself on one elbow, letting me do what I will. I realize it can’t be comfortable for him but the moment I hesitate, he looks up from beneath his lashes and tells me everything with his eyes. He wants this, he’s happy, he’s having fun, he loves me. That’s all it takes for me to twist my fingers into his silky hair and thrust a couple more times and completely let go. 

I want to speak. I want to tell him that I love him, that he’s the sexiest human being in the universe (he said this to me this morning and even though it made me preen, there’s no way it’s true because he owns that title), that I never had any idea sex could be like  _ this. _ So...fulfilling. So  _ connecting. _ That our sex is like movie-sex, it’s fantasy-level and no one even actually  _ gets _ this in real life, except, by some miracle, we do. That I never, in a million years, would have guessed that he—Ari fucking Mendoza—could say such dirty things to me with so much confidence. 

But I can’t talk. I can’t even move. I feel boneless, drained, drunk. He slides up next to me, ghosting his lips along my body the whole way, and I think I just might die now and be quite happy about it. 

He reaches over me, letting his body drape across me with no hesitation, and pulls a few tissues from the box beside his bed. I remember that those didn’t used to be there, and I smile languidly. 

I don’t know why he needs them now, though. He swallowed everything I gave him. 

Christ, I’m almost hard again, just thinking about it.

“You need a turn,” I mumble, and I realize I actually  _ do _ sound drunk. Deadass drunk, but any buzz I had from the beer earlier has long since worn off. I am literally drunk from what Ari just did to me. 

He laughs. “I came while I was blowing you.” He holds up the crumpled tissues for evidence, then tosses them into the wastebasket beside his bed (also a new installment). I let my head fall back on the pillow again, completely overcome. I let him wrap me up in his arms. I feel his solid strength and let him hold the mess he’s made of me with such tenderness, it makes me want to cry.* 

Life is good. 

Really, really good. 

  
  



End file.
